Frothing with Desire

When a six-foot-something fae warrior stomps into my coffee shop demanding “gainful human employment,” I think it’s a joke. But apparently he’s been banished from his realm, stripped of magic, and this is the only place desperate enough to hire him.

The problem? He thinks customer service means challenging rude patrons to duels. He tries to froth milk with a battle cry. He insists loyalty cards are a form of fealty contract. And every time I tell him to smile at the customers, he flashes the kind of grin that makes knees buckle and cappuccinos spill.

Now I’m stuck training him—explaining espresso machines, why we don’t address customers as “peasants,” and that Yelp reviews are not written decrees of treason. But somewhere between cleaning up his disasters and pulling endless late-night shifts together, I start noticing the way he leans in close, the way his big hands linger over mine when I’m teaching him latte art, the way he watches me like I’m the only battle worth fighting.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that a fae warrior never surrenders once he’s claimed his prize.